Celebration? Tch
by Areazel
Summary: Heine-centric. Sad Christmas fic. Need I say more? One-Shot for a contest on another site.


**Writer:** Areazel

**Beta Reader:** None

**Series:** DOGs: Bullets and Carnage

**Rating/Warnings:** None and none, just dark.

**Character(s):** Heine Rammsteiner

**Notes:**

For those of you out there who know my writing I often write depressing stories.

Well.

This is no different. I managed to write. A depressing. Christmas fic for a contest on another site. I thought I would upload it here too.

Read and Review!

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><p>Red eyes slowly focused on the world outside his window, the moon was high in the sky, looking larger than life. It spread a blanket of silver light over the city, a cold blanket. The corners of his lips briefly twitched into an almost smile as he thought about that. Once upon a time there was snow. He hadn't been alive that long, there were no seasons now. Just the same weather every day. Sometimes he wondered what snow had been like, frozen droplets of water falling from the sky? There were books that were written before the loss of seasons. About white Christmases, about how the first snow over a city was one of the most beautiful things. It didn't matter how dirty or decrepit the city was, a smooth blanket of white created silence. Cars and trains couldn't move, the city was in silence….<p>

Not anymore, no snow, no silence, just blood, violence and screams. He pulled his gaze from the window and let his eyes drift over the cramped living room he called home. He'd accumulated stuff over the years, none if it he held close, but he couldn't bring himself to throw it away. He'd shoved piles of news papers and books out of the way to make room for the small artificial tree he had (apparently there had also once been live trees, but those had died along with the seasons). There were few reasons Heine was happy to not be a human. One of them was that humans had messed up the world, stolen the basics from it. Weather, trees, life. All that was left now were cities that were falling apart, and corrupt governments

(_he'd escaped a lab to live here?_)

He shifted, pulling his legs up on the couch (at night it could get cold and he didn't have heat) as he stared at the tree. There were a few ornaments on it, no lights. Just three or four little glass orbs he'd found when picking through a old shop. He still wasn't sure how he felt about Christmas, it was different. It was a different day, it was a reason for celebration, for families to get together, for joy.

(_that much was clear from the bright smiles on peoples' faces as they walked down the street_)

That was funny. Celebration? (he had nothing to celebrate), families? (ha, what a joke) and joy? He'd never had that in his life and he was well aware he probably would never (he was a genetically manipulated monster, the closest he would get was a sadistic thrill).

He shook his head a little as he looked at the tree, eyes unfocused as he thought about the people he passed on the street. They lived in this city, they were beyond poor, they suffered everyday. But they were happy. His brows furrowed slightly, it didn't make sense. He didn't understand it (he didn't understand a lot about humans). Family made them happy, something about loving and being loved, apparently it made this hellish existence less terrible.

A thin almost pained smirk flickered across his face as he thought about his family. Not that there was much to think about. Mother had seen them as pawns, experiments, worthless (Heine liked to think he was something more, but deep in his heart he knew he was worthless). There had never been any celebration in the lab, there had barely been a night and a day. He was in his teens the first time he'd seen sunlight, or breathed the thick city air. It taken a while to figure out how old he was (birthdays didn't matter in the Underground, then again he never had been born, had he? Just created).

He supposed he had a small tree because it was a way to pretend. To pretend he had a reason to celebrate, to pretend there was a reason to be happy. It was painful. The more he thought about it the worse it hurt. He was a monster, he slaughtered people without a second thought, there was no way he could be happy. There was no way he'd have a family. No way he would be loved nor have anyone to love. He picked up the closest thing to his hand (a magazine) and he threw it at the tree. The sound of it falling over and one of the ornaments shattering sliced through the heavy silence like an axe. Heine's heard thud in his chest, and he looked at the tree (what was this feeling? Guilt?). He slid off the couch and he went over, ignoring the thin pieces of the broken red glass ball that buried themselves in his foot, and he gently (gently) moved the tree back into it's upright position.

It'd felt wrong to do that, and he was upset (not that it would show besides the slight pained grimace on his face) and he slowly picked up the pieces of glass, his movements almost lethargic as he was careful. It wasn't like the tree had done anything, it was just there, trying to bring holiday spirit into a shoddy little apartment in a shoddy city. He shouldn't have done that, it was the happiest thing in this house.


End file.
